


Wants versus Needs

by Mistress_of_Squirrels



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Self-Harm, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistress_of_Squirrels/pseuds/Mistress_of_Squirrels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adaar struggles with the deaths of the Valo-kas mercenaries. Her lover, Iron Bull, steps in to help, whether she wants that help or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wants versus Needs

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me after reading a study that suggests self-induced physical pain actually reduces feelings of guilt, hence the self-harm tag. It isn't described in detail, and is only mentioned briefly, but the tag is there for a reason.  
> Also, I have never written a sex scene before. FYI, it's probably terrible.  
> Edit: Found out Shokrakar is female, so I've added the correct pronouns.

There was something about Cullen’s face as he held out his latest report. Perhaps it was the grim set of his mouth, or perhaps it was the way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers as she accepted the single sheet of rolled parchment he offered. Whatever it was, Adaar knew with a certainty born of past experience that something terrible had happened. Swallowing back the knot of dread tightening her throat, the inquisitor gave a short nod of thanks that Cullen seemed to take as a dismissal. Only when she heard the dull thump of the war room’s heavy wooden doors did Adaar allow herself to read.

The message was only a few short lines, the scrawled words as rough as the mercenary leader who’d penned them, yet she read them over and over again, a part of her refusing to accept their meaning.

 _Hissra, Sataa, and Meraad are dead_.

She’d known the moment it had been confirmed that the Valo-kas squad was being held by human fanatics there was every chance of this happening. Still, Adaar had held out hope that the situation could be salvaged without further bloodshed. A foolish hope, maybe, but something to cling to while she was unable to do more than send others to act in her stead. That hope had allowed her to carry on as inquisitor and attend the numerous day to day tasks that running an organization as large as the Inquisition demanded. It had allowed her to stay sane while she waited for word of her comrades and friends. In the end, her hope had meant nothing. The scrap of paper she still held between numb fingers was proof of that.

It had been difficult to let her advisors handle this for her. The Vashoth woman was used to taking care of her own problems. Her first instinct had been to confront the fanatics herself. Even backwater humans should be able to understand that a Tal-Vashoth company wasn’t out to convert anyone to the damned Qun. And while diplomacy was Adaar’s preferred method of conflict resolution, violence made an admirable stand-in when that failed. Of course, her advisors disagreed with her proposal, and after several heated discussions, she was forced to admit that they were right. A qunari leading the Inquisition was what had people panicked in the first place. Her personal interference could have lead to a far more disastrous outcome. Knowing that was true wasn’t the same as _believing_ it, and the knowledge did little to silence the nagging voice insisting that she should have done more.

_I should have been there._

Despite it’s size, the war room was suddenly stifling. She needed air, solitude, if such a commodity could be found in Skyhold. She needed time to process and accept that three people she had loved like siblings were dead at the hands of a mob too ignorant to realize its fears were baseless. They were dead because that mob feared her.

Like a spark to black powder, rage bloomed hot in her chest at the cruel irony of it all, burning away the numbness of her shock. She wanted to hit something. Without pausing to consider the wisdom of her actions, Adaar allowed that single thought to lead her from the great chamber in long, angry strides. At her desk, Josephine jumped at the loud intrusion into her office, her startled expression changing to one of concern as she caught sight of the inquisitor’s stony countenance. The qunari waved off the ambassador, muttering that she was fine though she could tell the other woman saw her half-hearted assurance for the lie it was. Adaar clenched her jaw until her teeth creaked as a pang of guilt managed to pierce the red haze that had fallen over her thoughts. She would apologize for her rudeness later once the fire of her emotions had cooled and she trusted herself to speak.

The training yard wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t long before those few who had decided to make use of it moved as far from the inquisitor as discretion would allow. Adaar ignored their wide eyes and whispers as she chose one of the wooden practice dummies and drew her daggers. When it came to a fight, she had always preferred her bow and the distance it provided to the close range of melee combat. Her skill with the dual blades was adequate, but she lacked the grace and speed of Cole. Distance was the last thing she wanted right now, however, and finesse would be useless in venting the anger and guilt that still seethed within her.

She hacked at the dummy with vicious slashes until her arms ached and her fingers cramped around the hilts. For a time, she lost herself in the repetition of motion, the solid rhythm of her blades meeting wood. She could tell herself it was only sweat that stung her eyes, dust that choked her throat. When a dagger got stuck in one of the deep furrows that scarred the surface of the dummy, even that pretense was taken from her.

Biting back a sob equal parts grief and frustration, Adaar drove her fist into the featureless face of the training dummy. Pain shot through her knuckles, sending unpleasant jolts up her arm. Her breath caught on a small gasp as the throbbing in her hand intensified, but for just a moment, the vice around her heart eased it’s merciless grip. It felt _right_ , like she’d been paid a fraction of a debt she’d never hoped to collect. She drew her fist back again in preparation for another strike, but before she could complete the punch, a large hand enclosed her wrist in a firm grip.

“Thought you were more the long distance type, Boss,” the voice of her lover drawled near her ear. “If you wanted to spar, you should have said something.”

“Is there something you need, Bull?” she snapped as she tried to free her hand from the larger qunari’s grasp.

She regretted her waspish tone as soon as the words left her mouth, but she wasn’t ready to take them back. The Iron Bull could read her like the pages of an open book. There was no way she could brush him off as she had with Josephine, and this wasn’t something she wanted to talk about yet, especially with him. Though newly Tal-Vashoth himself, the leader of the Chargers held a low opinion of those that rebelled against the Qun. How could he possibly understand the depth of her grief for people he viewed as little more than murdering savages?

For his part, Bull ignored her cutting words, leaning down to examine her injured hand. Her knuckles were already swelling, blossoming with a new bruise, and several large slivers were embedded into skin that was scraped and bloody. Adaar glanced at his face from beneath her lashes but found she could not gauge his expression. After several long moments, Bull released her hand and slid his own to rest beneath her elbow. “Come on, Kadan. Let’s get this cleaned up.”

That was it. No chiding her for her tantrum in the courtyard, no lecture on how the Inquisition needed its leader to act like a leader. Adaar had expected to see at least a shadow of disappointment cross his features when he looked at her, but to her surprise, she saw nothing like that. Instead, one corner of his mouth lifted in that silly half-smile he reserved just for her. Deflated, she gave a small nod and allowed him to lead her to his room above the tavern. Tears pricked at her eyes once more, but the qunari woman blinked in defiance. She would not cry. She’d made a fool of herself once already today, she would not do so again.

Upstairs, Bull nudged her to the bed and set about gathering the necessary items to tend her hand. When he had what he needed, he sat beside her and began removing the largest of the splinters. He said nothing at first, the silence between them broken only by a few hissing breaths from Adaar as he worked at one particularly stubborn splinter. Once he removed what fragments he could, he gently flexed each of her fingers, checking for broken bones.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve done any permanent damage, but using that hand is going to hurt like shit for a few days,” he commented at last.

It was a statement of fact, and one that contained neither disapproval nor condescension, yet Adaar bristled all the same. “Is this the part where you tell me how stupid I was?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “No one that knows you would call you stupid, Boss.” His face softened as he peered at her with his single eye. “I know what happened to your men. Want to talk about it?”

“Why would you care about a few more dead _Tal-Vashoth_?” She was being unfair and she knew it, but she was desperate to avoid this conversation. If she could stay angry, she could keep some distance between her and the pain.

If Bull sensed that she was looking for a fight, he gave no indication. One heavy black brow arched. “Is that all they were?”

“No! Not to me. They were friends… family,” she finished on a whisper.

“And you think I don’t understand that?”

Adaar opened her mouth to launch a venomous retort about how there was no such thing as family under the Qun and stopped. Even in her current mood, that would be low. The very reason Iron Bull had been declared Tal-Vashoth was because he _did_ understand that sentiment, all too well. He’d found his own version of family with the Chargers, and when it came down to it, had sacrificed not only a dreadnought, but his entire way of life - all that he was, so far as he was concerned - to avoid losing them. It wasn’t something they spoke about, and she believed him when he claimed he was where he wanted to be, but she knew the ramifications of that decision still haunted the mercenary.

“It doesn’t matter to me that they were Tal-Vashoth, Kadan.” One powerful hand stroked her cheek in a gentle caress. “I know that they were nothing like the ones I fought in Seheron.”

She ached to lean into his touch, to accept the comfort it offered, but held herself rigid. Even a hint of weakness would be too much. The slightest crack in her defenses would break her, and the tide of grief would come rushing in to swallow her whole. “You can’t possibly know that,” she snorted looking away. “You’ve never even met them.” _And now you never will._

“No, but I know you, and that’s all I need to know that they were decent people. The woman who ran all over the Hinterlands to take care of a bunch of refugees wouldn’t accept any less.”

“And that same woman is also the reason they’re dead,” Adaar spat without thinking. “So I wouldn’t exactly consider her opinion reliable.”

“Kadan-”

Adaar interrupted before he could disagree with her. “I’m the one who gave them the job, Bull.”

“And sometimes things go tits up. Every merc knows that the next job might be the last. Comes with the territory.”

She shook her head in denial. Oh, Bull was right about the risks involved with their line of work, of course. She’d lost enough of her company in the past to know the truth in his words. But this was different. “I’m the reason they died, Bull. People were already nervous about the Inquisition. I should have known a qunari inquisitor wasn’t going to help matters. I should have done more to find them when they first went missing. I should have been there when they were rescued!” Her voice, which had been rising in volume with each successive statement broke on the last. She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling to say more while she fought for composure.

Bull sighed and sent her a look of fond exasperation. “But you weren’t, and nothing will change that.” He let that sink in for a moment before adding with deceptive casualness, “So why not go after the bastards that killed them? You have the entire Inquisition at your command.”

Adaar glared at him. “You know I can’t, Bull, as badly as I might wish otherwise. The Inquisition’s soldiers are here because they believe in our cause, not to be used as pawns so I can settle a personal vendetta. They deserve better than that.” So did the dead members of Valo-kas, but the ability to right that particular wrong was beyond her. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but true all the same.

Bull nodded once as though confirming something. “Is that what that’s about, Boss?” he asked as he gestured to her injured hand.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Adaar evaded.

“See, I think you know _exactly_ what I mean.”

The qunari woman was silent. Bull slid his fingers through her hair until his hand cupped the crown of her head. “You didn’t kill them, Kadan,” he said in a low voice so uncharacteristically soft it made her heart ache. “That guilt isn’t yours.”

When Adaar lowered her violet eyes, Bull sighed again. The hand still tangled in her hair tightened into a slow fist and her breath hitched as the pull on her scalp stopped just shy of pain. She tipped her head back to ease the strain and was forced to look him in the eye. His expression was serious, any of the previous gentleness wiped away by the gravity of his next words.

“I told you that I would never hurt you without your permission. Is this what you want?”

She gave the question honest consideration, knowing Bull would not continue until he was satisfied she had. They’d experimented with pain in the past, and his insistence on obtaining her consent first was unyielding. This was more than a sharp nip or a playful slap meant to enhance pleasure though, and they both knew it. This was about punishment. There would be no justice for Hissra, Sataa, or Meraad, but perhaps she could offer penance. She darted her tongue out to moisten her lips in an unconscious display of nerves before nodding as best as she could with Bull’s hand still gripping her hair. “Yes,” she said, steeling her tone. “This is what I want.”

He released her hair. “Take off your boots and lay back.”

Adaar blinked in confusion, but slid off her boots, knowing her obedience was expected. From the beginning, there was no question what her role would be if she agreed to getting involved with the Iron Bull - he had been nothing but transparent about that aspect of their relationship - and back then, the idea of submission had been as terrifying as it was thrilling. Having a predefined role was a bit too close to practices embraced by the Qun for her comfort, and only her trust in Bull had allowed her to even attempt it.

She’d made a game, once, of pushing the boundaries he’d set, some small part of her had still been resentful at the perceived loss of control. It was then she learned the power of a single word. Bull stopped at once, just as he had promised, and that was that. She’d thought perhaps she might have disappointed him in some way, wondered if she would regret her silly test, but the mercenary made no mention of it, despite her certainty that he was well aware of what she was doing and why. She’d used the word, and nothing had changed between them. She hadn’t felt the need to use it since, but she knew it would make no difference to him if she did.

Adaar slid back on the bed and started to lay down, but Bull shook his head and gestured for her to roll over. Only when she was stretched out on her stomach did he move toward her. She felt the bed dip as Bull sat down next to her, and lifted her head to send him a questioning look. All he did was nudge her back down with a firmness that warned her not to attempt the action again. His hand slid down her back sending small shivers up and down her spine before it came to rest just above her buttocks.

“Sometimes what a person wants isn’t the same as what a person needs. We’ll try this my way first, and if you feel like you need more, we’ll talk about your way.”

Adaar was ready to object, but Bull caught her eye and shook his head. “If you want out, you know what to say. My way first.”

She nearly said it. _Katoh_. Volatile as her state of mind was, the sudden stab of betrayal she felt at her lover’s refusal to grant her request was almost too much. He was one of the very few who saw her as a person. The rest saw the Herald, the hero sent from the Fade to wave Andraste’s magic wand and fix all of their fucking problems. Bull was the only reason she hadn’t yet crumbled under the weight of that burden, and now, when she felt like the world had slid out from under her once again, he was going to deny her a means to purge a modicum of the guilt that gnawed at her.

As if he sensed her inner turmoil, Bull brushed a snowy lock of hair from where it had fallen into her face. “Trust me, Kadan.”

“You know I do.”

“Then relax.”

His hand started moving again, up and down her back in long, gentle strokes, and Adaar realized she’d seen Dennet do the same thing with skittish horses. The comparison did not please her, even if she was the one who had made it, but it was soon apparent that the effect was the same. Without conscious effort, she felt some of the tension leave her body, even as she wondered what he was playing at. After a few minutes, she got her first clue.

“What were their names?” he asked. His hand had stilled, but he left it where it was, a comforting weight draped across the middle of her back.

Adaar sighed, but answered. “Sataa, Meraad, and Hissra.”

“Tell me about them.”

“I’d…rather not,” Adaar whispered as she felt her throat tighten.

“Kadan.”

His tone was gentle but the meaning was clear enough: unless she used her watchword, he expected her to talk. She couldn’t say what stopped her, but she meant what she told him: her trust in him was absolute. “Any particular order?”

Bull tilted his head in thought. “Start with Hissra.”

“Hissra’s like me,” Adaar began and then drew in a sharp, tremulous breath as she noticed her slip. The hand at her back rubbed slow, patient circles as her lover waited for her to continue. She swallowed and corrected, “Was like me. She grew up outside of the Qun. Fortunate, really, because she was also a mage. As bad as Sera about pulling pranks, but she was fun to be around. It’s her fault I owed Shokrakar a new blade.” She smiled and shook her head, eyes focused on something far away. “Hissra had the bright idea to take Shokrakar’s sword, freeze it in a block of ice, and leave it in the middle of the compound. The problem was, her spell froze more than just the water and when Shokrakar tried to get it out, the blade shattered.”

Iron Bull laughed. “So how did you end up being the one replacing it?”

“I’m the one who snuck in and got the sword for her. What?” she asked at his expression. “Mages are shit at sneaking. And it was funny! If Shokrakar would have left it alone until the ice melted, it would have been fine.”

“I don’t know, Kadan. That sounds like a lot of ice.”

“Yeah,” she said with a laugh. “And it was winter. She probably would have been waiting a long time.”

It felt good to laugh, but it was also a painful reminder that her pranks with Hissra were over. And she was only the first. The wave of sorrow that hit her was the strongest yet, and Adaar turned her face down into the bed to hide the few traitorous tears that managed to escape. She held her breath to fight back a sob, her body shuddering from the effort. Before she knew what had happened, Bull scooped her off the bed with the same ease one would a small child and settled her on his lap.

“Don’t do that, he admonished, wrapping strong arms around her. “If you need to cry, let go and cry. You’re allowed to grieve for them.”

“I- I can’t, Bull,” she argued with a frantic shake of her head. “If I start, I don’t know when I’ll stop.”

“You’ll stop when you’re good and ready. We’ve got time.”

“I can’t let them see me like this.”

“And seeing you beating your hands bloody in the training yard is better? You’re safe here, Kadan. We’re alone. Cole can’t even do that creepy stalker thing now that people can see him or whatever.”

Whether she’d unconsciously sought acceptance for a moment of weakness, or whether she’d simply been fighting a losing battle all along she couldn’t say. In the end, it didn’t really matter. The tears came again, and this time there was no stopping them. Choking sobs wracked her as a sound like a wounded animal tore from her throat. Bull pulled her closer, resting his chin on the curve of her horns and running his fingers through her hair.

“Hissra didn’t know anything about the Qun!” Adaar wailed between heaving breaths. “The only thing she had in common with qunari was a set of fucking horns! And the other two, Sataa and Meraad. All they wanted was to be left alone. They didn’t give a nug’s hairless ass what a bunch of humans choose to believe in. And they killed them! Should have let the damn demons have them…”

She lost track of how much time had passed. At times she wept, eyes clenched shut as tears dripped from her face. Then there moments when she raged against the unjust irony of the entire situation. Bull never said anything, but held her locked in the safety of his arms as she cried herself out. And she did stop, eventually. Despite her earlier fears, the intensity of her sobs lessened until they were nothing more than sniffles and an occasional hiccuping gasp. When she had control of herself, Adaar rested her forehead against her lover’s chest and let out a long, shaky sigh.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.” She looked up at him from beneath long tendrils of hair that had come loose from the tight knot she normally kept them in. “Probably not the last time, though.”

“Probably not,” Bull agreed as he touched her cheek. “You need to do this again, I’ll be here.”

“I know.”

Large hands framed her face. “I mean it, Kadan. You need to talk, you need to cry, come to me. If you feel like you need pain, come to me.”

Adaar snorted. “You wouldn’t do it when I asked the first time!”

“Do you still want me to?”

She thought for a moment, surprised at the answer she arrived at. “No,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “I still - I still want to feel like it’s my fault. But I know that the same thing would have happened to any qunari who happened to be there at the wrong time. I knew that already, I just… well.”

“You wanted a target,” Bull supplied. “Someone to blame that you could actually do something about.”

“Yes,” Adaar sighed. “Why am I even still surprised when you do that?”

“Ben-Hassrath, remember?”

She gave a short laugh at that. “So you keep reminding me.” She was silent for a few minutes before her curiosity got the better of her. “Bull, why wouldn’t you do what I wanted? I didn’t think you’d mind. And I gave you permission.”

“First off, fooling around isn’t the same as satisfying some fucked up idea of justice. Second: no, you didn’t give me permission. Not really.”

“That’s odd, because I specifically remember otherwise.”

Bull sighed and shook his head. “Why didn’t you rush out and find a willing mage when the kid wanted to do that demon binding thing? He practically begged you to.”

“He was upset!” Adaar defended. “He was jumping to an extreme that wasn’t necessary.”

Bull gave her a pointed look.

“Oh.”

“And permission doesn’t count when your head’s all messed up, Kadan. I have to be able to trust that you’ll actually use that watchword if you need to, and the way you were then, I couldn’t.” Bull pressed his lips to her forehead before adding, “I’ll hurt you, if that’s what you want, but I will never _hurt_ you.”

The earnestness in his words touched her deeply, and Adaar was left fighting the absurd urge to cry again. Seeing her struggle, Bull leaned back on the bed, pulling her with him.

“You should get some rest,” he said, once she was settled beside him.

Drained as she was, Adaar didn’t object. She laid her head against his shoulder and put an arm around him, fingers splayed over his massive chest. In the sudden quiet, sounds from the tavern below reached her ears. She tried to focus on the faint strains of the bard’s lute and let her mind drift enough for sleep to claim her, but after almost an hour went by, it was clear that that wasn’t going to happen. Exhaustion pulled at her limbs and her eyes felt heavy and dry, but sleep would not come. She was not alone. She’d shared a bed with the Iron Bull long enough to know that, for all his stillness, he was also awake. For the first time, she noticed that at some point during her time here, he’d removed his harness. Well. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she’d have to find another way to distract herself.

Lowering her head, she dropped a kiss to his chest and traced the dark patterns of his tattoos with a fingertip. It wasn’t often that she got the chance to take these kind of liberties, and while she was more than satisfied with the arrangement she had with her lover, she took full advantage of every such opportunity that came her way. When Bull failed to provide any kind of reaction, she pressed her luck further, adding another kiss an inch below the first, and another below that, working her way down his chest and to his abdomen. She got to just above his navel before he cleared his throat and Adaar looked up to find him watching her, lips twisted in amusement.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Rolling her eyes at his mild scolding, Adaar returned to running her finger along the intricate black lines that swirled across his torso and said in a mocking whine, “But mother, I want to stay up and play!”

Bull grabbed her wrist, stilling her hand. “You know… if you’re trying to set a mood, it’s not going so well.”

Releasing an undignified snort, Adaar collapsed across his chest, shoulders shaking in helpless giggles. “You’re right,” she gasped, when she could speak again. “I really didn’t think that through before I said it.”

“Well, if you’re done being weird…” Bull rolled over, pulling her with him until their positions were reversed, and Adaar found herself breathless for an entirely different reason as he nipped at the point of her ear. “We can pick up where you left off.”

“I like that idea,” she breathed, tilting her head to give him better access.

“Good.” Catching her wrists in one hand, Bull pinned them above her head. “Don’t move them,” he said, the low rumble of his voice sending a shiver through her. Heat pooled low in her belly as he licked at the sensitive area just below her jaw, and she gasped as blunt teeth scraped against the delicate skin of her throat. Adaar moaned, long and low when those teeth delivered a sharp bite, pleasure chasing pain as Bull laved the tender spot with his tongue. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“Maybe you could help me with that,” Adaar replied, voice shaking with anticipation. “I seem to be without the use of my hands.”

“I think I can arrange something.” Bull set to work on the clasps of her shirt with a nimbleness that had once surprised her. Adaar had time for a quick moment of thanks that he hadn’t just ripped her shirt open (sparing her another embarrassing conversation with Josephine) before the last clasp fell free and his hands slid inside, skimming along the lean muscle over her ribs to cup her breasts. He captured one nipple with his mouth through the fabric of her breast band and she arched her back, letting out a strangled cry as a bolt of liquid pleasure shot straight to her core. A sharp tug of his teeth freed the knot holding the strip of cloth in place, spilling her breasts into his waiting hands.

“You really do have fantastic tits, Kadan,” he murmured in appreciation, dipping his head to swirl his tongue over one dusky peak and then the other. With a whimper, Adaar bit her bottom lip, resisting the urge to squirm. Her smalls were already damp to the point of discomfort, and Bull was showing no signs of hurrying things along. He lavished her with lips and tongue until her breath came in ragged pants and her body was reduced to a trembling mass of need.

“Please, Bull. _Please_.” Whispered pleas tumbled from her lips like a fervent prayer, though even she could not say what she prayed for. Deliverance or damnation, it made no difference. Both were equally sweet when administered by his capable hands, and Adaar surrendered herself, body and soul, to his judgment.

Bull smoothed sweat-soaked hair from her forehead and pressed his lips to her temple. “Be patient. We’ll get there when you’re ready.”

Arguing that she was ready now would do no good. Her lover would do as he pleased, and all past attempts on her part to expedite matters had failed, often having the opposite effect. The Iron Bull was a patient man and both expected and rewarded her patience in turn. It was maddening, at times, to play by his rules, but always worth it in the end.

He shot her a wicked grin and then began a slow descent, leaving a series of wet kisses down the quivering plane of her stomach. Broad hands roamed her body in a lazy, teasing circuit before settling on the curve of her waist, and she could have wept in gratitude when he hooked a finger in the waistband of her breeches and tugged them down over her hips. Her smalls were next, and Bull tossed both garments behind him, unconcerned with where they might fall. He nuzzled a cheek against the crest of her hipbone while thick fingers stroked the soft thatch of curls at the juncture of her thighs. Adaar bucked her hips at the contact and let out a noise somewhere between a moan and a whine as she fought the impulse to reach for him; his order to leave her hands where he’d placed them was as binding as any rope.

“You smell good, Kadan.” He slicked a finger with her own moisture and held it up for her to see. “And look at you. Already wet.”

Adaar’s litany began anew as that same finger teased at her entrance and Bull swept his tongue over her slippery folds. His pace was torturous, meant to stoke her further still, and the qunari woman’s thighs trembled from the effort of holding still while every nerve ending she had screamed for more friction. She cried out his name when he crooked a thick finger inside her, arching against his hand as he brushed a spot that made tiny colored lights dance in her vision.

“Please, Bull!” she begged “I can’t… I can’t take anymore!”  
  
Bull’s only response to her cries was a low chuckle. She was close, so close! And he knew it. His arm came down across her hips, pinning her lower body to the bed. Adaar was powerless, at the mercy of her lover’s whims, and for all her vexation at his ruthless teasing, she would have it no other way. Again and again his talented tongue brought her to the edge of release, only to deny her that final plunge, holding her prisoner in a strange limbo of too much stimulation and yet not quite enough.

After what seemed like an eternity, Bull finally took pity on her wretched state. “Do you want to come, Kadan?”

“Yes! _Please_!”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want to come!” she cried, voice frantic. “Oh, fuck, please let me come!”

“Then go ahead,” Bull rumbled. He found the tiny nub hidden amongst her folds and rubbed against it in firm circular strokes. Adaar felt the wave of pleasure build until it crested and crashed over her. She let out a wordless shriek and her body went rigid, clenching around his fingers in rhythmic spasms as she rode the current to completion.

When she came back to herself, she found Bull watching her, his hand tracing idle patterns along her hip.

“You’re gorgeous when you come,” he said as he gave her hip a fond squeeze. “All wild and out of control.”

“I thought you said I was gorgeous when I was begging?”

“Oh, you _are_ , but that’s a different kind of gorgeous.”

Adaar gave a tired laugh, closing her eyes as she waited for her breathing to return to normal. The bed shifted beneath her as Bull rose, and when she opened her eyes again, he was climbing in beside her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Getting into bed. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“But what about you?” She sat up, a frown creasing her brow.

“I’m fine.”

“But-”

Bull cupped her cheek, his gaze tender. “I told you, Kadan, you don’t have to worry about me. Today was about what you needed.” She must have looked unconvinced, because he wrapped an arm around her and guided her down beside him. “If it makes you feel better, you can make it up to me some other time. Now, go to sleep.” After a moment, he added, “I mean it. No fooling around.”

Her grin was mischievous as she replied, “Yes, mother.”

“Don’t start,” her lover warned, swatting her on the ass. “Sleep.”

She giggled but complied, snuggling against his larger frame. She had been exhausted before, and she was well past that point now, both in body and mind. Her thoughts drifted over the events of the day, and she felt the familiar pang of loss as she recalled exactly what had lead her here. It still hurt, and she imagined it always would to some degree, but guilt no longer held her in its crushing grasp.

“Thank you, Bull,” she whispered right before sleep overcame her.

“Anytime, Kadan. Anytime.”


End file.
